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This week’s entry is actually the end of a several week long process where I experimented with a different method for forming.

This is an idea I’ve been wanting to try ever since seeing a website by a British artist who made life size human figures out of wire.  His name is regretfully forgotten, and the link to his website lost.  What I remember the most – besides the wonderful realism of his figures – was that he built them over a solid core, which was later burned out.

Cores are often used with metal clay for making hollow forms such as boxes or beads.  After some research, I bought some cork clay, and then promptly got too busy to go any further.

Cork clay is usually burned out in a kiln.  Since I’m not interested in making a substantial investment for something I may not stick with, I started researching low-tech alternatives.  I remembered a thread on Ganoksin about using a flower pot kiln for burning out wax.  The Ganoksin archives, while vast and wide-ranging, are frustrating to search, and didn’t provide anything really helpful.  Evenually, I found some basic information elsewhere online for building a flower pot kiln and went about collecting the materials to build one.

I wasn’t sure if the kiln would get hot enough to burn out the cork clay, so I made my first core out of bread dough.  Since it was just an experiment, I opted to do a freeform winding of copper wire around the core.

Finding an unglazed clay pot of an appropriate size in January in Canada is a challenge.  However, I did find one – and only one – at Home Depot.

Once back at home, I lined the pot with tin foil, set up the hotplate on my back deck, put a modified coffee can on the element, added the piece to be fired, covered it, and turned it on.

It smoked a lot, and stunk to high heaven, but considering it was in -12°C and blowing gusts, it worked very well!  The core-free wire looks a bit like a peanut.

Because with the YOJP, a finished piece is supposed to be submitted each week, I decided to also try my hand at making some leaves with fold forming, which were then patinated using salt & ammonia.  They were attached to the peanut and presto! a finished piece.

It’s not pretty, but it wasn’t intended to be.    My next step will be to try again with the cork clay.

Process photos:

[View with PicLens]

I’ve been debating with myself for three weeks about what and how much to write about this week’s entry.  I made the felted heart in week 2, but then discovered that studio gremlins had made off with my copper wire…  I finally found a small spool of it last week, so was able to start work on the project.  The gremlins are refusing to let go of the rest, though, so this is the last copper piece I’m going to be making for the time being.

I spent a lot of time during my hiatus meditating on the direction I should go with my jewellery.  Time and time again I’ve gotten the message that my jewellery needs to connect with the spirit, and express more of my inner voice.

So, my piece this week speaks from a very personal perspective.  The very long story behind it is one that only my very closest friends have known about before now.

For many years I was involved with a man who was abusive.   This man I loved subjected me to all manner of debasement:  verbal, emotional, mental, physical, sexual and financial.

But, let me make this very important point:  I am not, and have never been, a “victim” of abuse or an abuse “survivor”.  I detest those terms.  I am clear in the understanding that I made the choice to stay in a relationship that inflicted pain on me.

Or, as my brother put less delicately:  “You’re being used, you’re being abused, and you’re paying for privilege.”

I grew up in a religious family where the marriage vow was taken seriously.  “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…”  My partner and I lived together long enough to be the equivalent of married.  I was as committed to the relationship as any married couple should be.  Despite the begging from my family and close friends to leave, I felt I had to continue to give my all, until I had no more to give.

It was my mother’s death that started the chain of events that led to both the darkest chapter of my life, and the path to my liberation.  In the seven months after her death, the abuse escalated.  I still chose to stay, but I started feeling haunted by a Bible verse I learned as a kid:

Was hülfe es dem Menschen, so er die ganze Welt gewönne, und nehme Schaden an seiner Seele? (Matt. 16:26) What does it help a man, if he wins the whole world, and takes damage to his soul?

What was I getting in return for the inner self I was forfeiting?

It was a parachute jump – or rather the lack of one – that finally brought me to my choice to leave.

From my teens on, I had had a life goal to do a parachute jump.  I figured if I could do that, I would be able to do anything on which I set my mind.  Finally I got my chance, thanks to a Christmas gift from my partner of a lesson through the Parachute School of Toronto.  A dream come true!!  I was beyond excited!

The day came, and we drove to Arthur, Ontario, to a remote farm where the school was located.  My instructor was a three-time Canadian parachute jumping champion, and had made many hundreds of jumps.  Most of the day was spent going over how to pull the rip cord, how to land, practising the maneuvers etc. etc.  Safety, safety, safety was the message drilled into us the whole time.

The actual jump was scheduled for mid-afternoon.

Finally the class got ready.  We were split up into five groups of 5 and suited up.  Three groups went up and did their jumps.  As the sun got lower in the sky, the wind picked up.   Close to 4:30, the instructor decided that the wind was too strong to allow the rest of the novices to jump.  The group I was in and the last one would have to try again another day.

I was devastated, and in tears when I went to tell my partner.

He, not the slightest bit interested in throwing himself out of a perfectly good airplane, had passed the day reading books.  He was furious, and flew into a rant about how he’d had to spend all day being bored out of his mind, watching the grass grow, how we’d had to waste $20 in gas to drive up to the farm, and now we’d have to waste another $20 in gas to drive up again, so he could spend another day watching the grass grow.  He said that he was “personally offended” that the instructor hadn’t tried harder to get us all up.

I was dumbstruck.  The only thing I could manage to squeak out was that the instructor’s main concern was keeping us safe, alive and in one piece, not putting us in danger by letting us jump in windy conditions.

For years, and out of love, I’d worked myself to the bone, put every ounce of creative energy I had into helping him to achieve his dreams, jumped through hoops to please him, and put up with all manner of insult.  This was the one time the focus was on me, my dreams, and all he could think about what how it had affected him.  He didn’t have it in him to see beyond himself for even one day. I was silent on the drive home, too numb with shock at his reaction. When I looked at him, I didn’t see the Beloved Other: I saw a stranger I didn’t know.

The next morning I woke up knowing I had reached the end of the line. The battery was dead, the tank was empty, I had nothing left.

My decision to leave threatened to turn me into a nervous wreck.  This was a man who’d flown into a three hour rage because I’d left a spoon in the sink.  I had no idea how he was going to react when I broke the news to him.   It had become a habit by that point to plan out contingencies for any of his possible reactions, so that’s what I did.  And I prayed… a lot… By the Grace of the Unseen Protector, I caught him on a good day, and he took the news calmly.  We were able to get through the separation of our lives.

Later, after a lot of research, I came to the conclusion that my ex was bi-polar.

I don’t say that to minimize what he did, or the pain he inflicted on me, but I recognize that the cage I stuck my heart into in was one of my own choosing.  I could have left earlier than I did, but my concern was with “winning the world” – keeping up appearances to co-workers & friends, and not wanting to declare bankruptcy – more than on the damage being done to my soul. In the end, I left almost everything of material value behind.

Fast foward to 1998.

I had gotten back into dating, but I wasn’t interested in anything serious.  Ironically, it was the guys who were eager for commitment.  Even Malcolm, the man I eventually married, had to spend the better part of a year convincing me to go steady with him.  To his credit, he didn’t give up.  Having lived through a disastrous marriage of his own, he understood what I was going through.

I realized that my heart was still in the cage, and that now I’d added a barbed wire fence around it.  I wanted to feel the warm and fuzzy feeling of being in love, but hadn’t been willing to undo the lock.

The Caged Heart grows cold.

I had to choose to reach for the key.

I did, and I’ve never regretted it…